Maria’s white dress flowed over her figure in waves of expensive silk. She stood before the mirror, unable to believe her happiness. Today she was marrying Ivan. The very same Vanya who, three years ago, had literally saved her from loneliness.
“Mashechka, are you ready?” her mother peeked into the room, her eyes glistening suspiciously. “You look so beautiful!”
“Mama, please don’t cry,” Maria turned toward her mother and hugged her tightly. “I’m so happy! Vanya is so wonderful, so caring.”
The ceremony passed as if in a magical haze. Maria remembered only Ivan’s eyes—warm, brown, filled with adoration. When he slipped the ring on her finger, his hands trembled slightly from excitement.
“Now you’re mine forever,” Ivan whispered in her ear after their kiss.
“And you’re mine,” Maria replied, her heart ready to leap from her chest with overflowing emotions.
At the banquet, Maria never left her husband’s side. She held his hand, leaned against his shoulder, caught his every glance. Ivan was the center of her universe, the sun around which her whole life revolved.
“Bitter! Bitter!” the guests chanted again.
Ivan pulled Maria close, and she melted into his embrace. At that moment, the whole world ceased to exist. There were only the two of them—husband and wife.
A month after the wedding, Maria stood in the middle of the bathroom of their two-room apartment. She had bought the flat two years earlier, before she met Ivan. A new build, bright, with big windows. Only the bathroom needed serious renovations.
“Mash, let’s use this tile,” Ivan showed her a sample of beige ceramic. “It’ll be light and cozy.”
“No, Vanya, better this bluish one,” Maria pressed against her husband’s shoulder. “Just imagine how beautiful it will look!”
Ivan hugged his wife and kissed her temple.
“All right, let it be blue. Anything for you,” he picked up a spatula and began removing the old tiles. “But you have to help me, otherwise I’ll still be at it by the time I retire.”
Maria laughed and grabbed the second spatula. They worked together, tossing jokes back and forth, and Maria thought how lucky she was. Ivan wasn’t just a husband—he was a friend, a helper, her rock.
“You know, I always dreamed my husband would tinker with renovations with me like this,” Maria admitted, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Not sit on the couch with the remote.”
“I can’t leave you alone with this nightmare,” Ivan gestured toward the stripped walls. “Besides, this is my home too now.”
Half a year into their life together, one sunny, quiet morning, Maria sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, watching Ivan work his magic at the stove. The smell of pancakes filled the small kitchen space.
“Vanya, you’re practically a chef,” Maria smiled. “Where’d you learn that?”
“Bachelor life taught me,” Ivan replied, deftly flipping another pancake. “Can’t live on dumplings alone.”
Maria gazed at her husband’s broad back, his confident movements, her heart warming. She was the happiest woman in the world. A loving husband, a cozy home, a steady job—what more could she want?
Ivan turned, walked over, and gently kissed the top of her head. He smelled of pancakes and men’s cologne—a combination that made Maria’s head spin. He set a plate piled with golden pancakes on the table and sat across from her.
“Eat while they’re hot,” he nudged sour cream and jam toward her.
“How’s work going?” Maria asked, spreading strawberry jam on a pancake. “Still that boss giving you a hard time?”
“No, he’s quieted down, it seems,” Ivan poured himself some tea. “But we got a new secretary. Just a kid, fresh out of university.”
“And how is she?” Maria bit into her pancake. “Managing?”
“Managing? Not at all!” Ivan laughed. “Mixes up documents, spills coffee. Yesterday she even managed to delete half the client database. Luckily, we had a backup.”
Maria laughed too.
“I remember myself after university. Had such grand plans, thought I’d immediately become a big boss,” she shook her head. “Then my rosy dreams burst, and I had to accept reality.”
“But now you have me,” Ivan winked.
“That’s true, now I have my own personal chef,” Maria reached across the table and took her husband’s hand. “And plumber, and electrician.”
They lingered at the table, chatting about all sorts of silly things, laughing. Maria told him about her colleagues, Ivan about new projects. These were the simple moments of happiness that made up their life together.
But gradually, something began to change. Ivan started working late. At first an hour, then two, and eventually he came home close to midnight.
Maria lay in bed, hearing the soft click of the front door lock. Ivan tried to be quiet, but she still wasn’t asleep. It had been two months since these late nights began.
“Sorry, Mash, late again,” Ivan slipped under the blanket. “We were working on an urgent report.”
“Vanya, maybe you should talk to your boss?” Maria turned to her husband. “You can’t keep working like this all the time.”
“Bear with it a little, darling,” Ivan hugged her. “They promised a good bonus. In early autumn we’ll be able to go on vacation somewhere nice. Not just Turkey, but a decent place.”
Maria clung tightly to her husband. His embrace still brought her a sense of safety and peace.
“I know work takes a lot of time sometimes,” she whispered. “I just miss you.”
“I miss you too,” Ivan kissed her forehead. “Everything will work out, you’ll see.”
A week later, Maria stood in the living room looking at an open suitcase. Summer clothes were neatly folded; only the zipper remained.
“Didn’t forget anything?” Ivan peeked from the hallway. “Got your charger? Medicine?”
“I have everything, don’t worry,” Maria mentally ran through her list. “I’m only going to my parents for ten days.”
“Give them my regards,” Ivan came up and hugged his wife. “Too bad I can’t go with you. No way to get time off.”
“That’s okay,” Maria hugged him back. “Mama and Papa will understand.”
Ivan grabbed the suitcase.
“Let me help you carry it to the taxi.”
They went downstairs, and Maria got into the car. Ivan waved to her as she headed to the station, and from there—to her childhood village.
Her parents’ home greeted Maria with the smell of fresh bread and silence. Mama bustled in the kitchen, Papa tinkered in the shed. Everything was as it had been in her childhood, only now Maria came as a guest.
“Mashechka, how are you? How’s Vanechka?” Mama sat her daughter at the table and started serving food.
“Everything’s good, Mama. Vanya works a lot,” Maria grabbed a pie. “Delicious!”
The days in the village passed slowly and peacefully. Maria helped her mother with chores, went fishing with her father, spent evenings on the porch. But her thoughts constantly returned to Ivan. She missed his smile, his hands, their morning talks in the kitchen. Ten days felt like an eternity.
“Mash, what if you surprise Vanya?” Mama suggested on the ninth day. “Go back a day early.”
“Mama, that’s a great idea!” Maria brightened.
“Here, take my preserves,” Mama pulled out jars of strawberries in syrup and raspberries. “Doesn’t Vanya love berry pie? You can bake him one.”
Maria hugged her mother and started packing. Tomorrow morning, she’d take the first train—back home to her beloved husband.
On the train, Maria couldn’t sit still with excitement. She pictured Ivan coming home from work to find her waiting with a hot pie. She imagined his surprise, his joy, how he’d scoop her up and spin her around the room. A smile stayed on her face the entire trip. Passengers glanced at her, but Maria didn’t care. She was going home, back to her happiness.
From the station, Maria took a taxi. The driver chatted about the weather and traffic, but she hardly listened. Only one image filled her mind—Ivan’s surprised and happy face.
Maria unlocked the apartment door. Her husband should already be at work. She had plenty of time to prepare everything. But from the living room came a woman’s laughter—bright, young, carefree. Maria froze. The suitcase remained on the landing, the door ajar.
On tiptoe, Maria moved down the hallway. Her heart pounded in her throat. From the living room came Ivan’s voice:
“Hold on a little longer, darling. Masha thinks I’m her prince. I’ll suggest putting part of the apartment in my name, and she won’t refuse. Then I’ll file for divorce and take my share. And we’ll be able to buy ourselves a cozy love nest.”
A young woman’s voice responded with laughter:
“You’re so clever! I’d never have thought of that.”
“That’s why I solve all our problems,” Ivan’s voice was tender in a way Maria hadn’t heard in a long time.
Maria took the final step and stood in the doorway. On the couch sat Ivan and a young girl—the secretary. Maria had seen her once at Ivan’s office. They were sitting very close, Ivan’s arm around her shoulders.
Both froze when they saw Maria. Ivan turned pale, the girl shrank back in fright.
“Came home early,” Maria’s voice sounded surprisingly calm. “Wanted to bake a pie, surprise you. But you managed to surprise me first.”
“Masha, it’s not what you think,” Ivan jumped off the couch.
“And what should I think?” Maria smirked, though inside everything had collapsed. “That you’re discussing the quarterly report with your secretary? On the couch, cuddling?”
“Masha, let me explain…”
“You won’t get even a part of my apartment!” Maria’s voice broke into a scream. “Do you hear? Not a single meter!”
The secretary pressed into the couch; Ivan stepped toward his wife:
“Masha, listen, I can explain! I was lacking your attention, your love…”
“Lacking?” Maria couldn’t believe her ears. “I lived for you! Breathed for you!”
“But I’m always at work, and you’re not there,” Ivan tried to justify himself. “And Lena is always nearby, always ready to listen…”
“Well, since she’s always nearby,” Maria took a deep breath, “take her and get out of my apartment. Stay together as much as you want.”
“Masha, forgive me!” Ivan fell to his knees. “I was a fool! Forgive me!”
“Get up,” Maria turned away. “Don’t degrade yourself. Just leave.”
“Masha, please! Let’s talk! I’ll fix everything!”
“Get out!” Maria shouted. “Both of you! Out of my home!”
The secretary jumped up and bolted out. Ivan kept trying to say something. But Maria didn’t listen. She went to the bedroom and began packing his things. Her hands moved mechanically—shirts, pants, socks. Everything flew into the bag.
She set the last bag out on the landing. And slammed the door. From the other side came her husband’s shouting.
“Masha, open the door! Let’s talk!” Ivan’s voice trembled.
“Too late,” Maria tried to keep her voice steady.
“Masha, I love you! It was a mistake!”
Then she went to the kitchen, took out her mother’s jar of raspberries—sealed with love. She put on the kettle. There wouldn’t be any pie, but she would have some delicious tea. The raspberries would soothe her frayed nerves. And then she would come up with a plan for how to live on. Without Ivan. Without her “prince,” who had turned out to be just another liar.
